Step by Step
by america-is-gay
Summary: Alfred is a high school jock sent to practice by ballet by his football coach, who says Al needs to work on his balance. Ivan is a dork who loves ballet. Before either one knows what happens, they fall in love. Based off of hetaliaau's post:


The car came to stop, and Alfred pulled out his earbuds, wearing a frown only a teenage boy could.

"Do I really have to do this?" He whined. "It's friggin' stupid."

"The coach said you have to, hun," his mom answered sweetly. She got a glare in response.

"Coach Thorton has no idea what he's talking about," Alfred huffed, sliding even further down into his seat. "I'm as graceful as a swan."

His mom rolled her eyes. "Come on, get going."

Alfred huffed, stuffed his earbuds and his phone in his pocket, grabbed his bag, and slammed the door behind him. He couldn't believe he had to do this. This was ridiculous. Alfred had heard Coach Thorton was tough, but this was flat out _sadistic_. He was a star player on Newton's football team. He was stronger than every other player, even though he didn't look it. But the coach said he was "unbalanced", and "uncoordinated." What bullshit.

He slouched and cast looks around the area, scanning for anyone that may have known him from school. Luckily, it was still early in the morning, and no one was around to see him. He'd have to bail town if anyone saw him _here_.

Once he got to he door of the dance studio, Alfred huffed, staring at the window decal that said "Elizabeta's Dance Studio".

"Damn it," he mumbled, yanking open the door.

Hearing the door close behind him, Alfred gripped the strap of his duffel bag, looking out at his new hell.

The dance studio was larger than he expected, and smelled like sweat and powder. It was brightly lit, and Alfred could see his reflection in the large mirrors on the opposite wall. The floor was black, polished wood. Something about the place was oddly intimidating.

Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he looked around with a grimace. There were some girls talking in a group, lacing up their ballet shoes, and, leaning against the pole in front of the mirror, slipping on a ballet slipper...

"Ivan?"

The Russian looked up at all, violet eyes full of confusion. "Alfred? Alfred Jones?"

"Yeah," Al said, rushing over to him. Al felt a tickle of amusement seeing the large, intimidating foreign kid wearing latex leggings. He couldn't help but snicker. "Dude, look at you. What are you doing here?"

Ivan's pale face flushed pink, and he avoided Al's gaze. He shrugged briskly, and walked away, over to where the dancers left their bags during class.

Alfred stood a moment, flustered, and then turned around to see Ivan staring into his bag.  
"O-o-o-kay," Al said, before walking over to him, placing his duffel down, and pulling out a plastic bag that contained his shirt, leggings, and...dance belt. Ivan didn't move the entire time, and Alfred took notice of the fact his face was still pink.

Al got up, and headed towards the bathroom at the front of the studio to get changed. He felt the girls on the other side of the studio staring at him, and there was something about the stares of teenage girls that made one uneasy. He tried to shake off the feeling their eyes bore into the back of his neck, but he couldn't. He just keep his head down and kept walking.

He was glad when he made it to the safe haven of the changing rooms, but now he had to put on these stupid goddamn tights. He looked at them and stretched them out a bit.

Did he really have to wear these? He could prance around just as well in jeans as he could in latex, he figured.

He dropped them, sighed, and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. He cussed again, his temples throbbing and temper flaring. This was _stupid_. Alfred didn't need to do ballet to learn how to balance, he could have done something cooler, like snowboard. He sighed, accepting that he was stuck here for the next couple of weeks, and that he would have to try to make it less miserable for himself.

He took his glasses off, realizing he probably should have worn his contacts. He sighed, figuring he could at least get through the first day without them. He then tore of his sweatshirt and the blue t-shirt saying "Newton Eagles", and slipped on ta plain white shirt.

And then he took a deep breath, unbuttoned his pants and stepped out of his jeans and undergarments, and gingerly pulled out his dance belt. He looked at it, slightly frightened. He sighed, telling himself it was no different than a cup, and put it on, pulling up his leggings after, and then lacing his shoes up, like a YouTube video he watched thrice over had taught him. Secretly, Al was proud of himself for being able to figure it out without struggle on his first class.

After he was all set, he stood up and stretched his arms out with a yawn.

"Oh my god," he mumbled, looking down at himself. "I look like a fucking idiot."

He balled his hands into fists, and bit his lip. He found himself wondering what Ivan would think. Ivan was basically nobody at his school. He just sat quietly, did his work, watched everyone with the same creepy smile he always wore, and went home. Alfred knew the kid got bullied, too, but other than that, he didn't know anything about him. So Alfred was perplexed as to why his opinion mattered now.

Mustering his courage, he burst through the changing room stall curtains and out the bathroom door, keeping his head straight up, but looking no one in the eye. There was a few more girls in the studio than before, he noticed, but he decided to pretend they didn't exist. He marched straight for his duffel, and after placing the plastic bag with his clothes in it, he sat hugging his knees, waiting for the instructor.

He also was watching Ivan, who was mingling around with some of the girls, and who seemed to be having a good time, judging by the way he was smiling. He did, however, occasionally turn cautiously back towards Alfred, who would pretend he wasn't staring at him.

Then the room fell silent, and Alfred stood up. A young girl had just walked into the studio wearing a trench coat over her leotard, and Alfred guessed she was the dance instructor. She was pretty, Alfred guessed, with long brown hair and soft green eyes, and she three flowers placed behind her ear. Truthfully, Al didn't care much for girls. He had date a few, and had kissed his fair share of them, but...when he really thought about it, he really began to realize he didn't care much for them at all. He found it kind of confusing, so most of the time, he just didn't think about it.

He watched all the dancers line up and get ready for class, and followed their lead, taking his place next to Ivan, who was gripping the bottom of his shirt anxiously.

The instructor was still talking gleefully with one of the students, so Al glanced over at Ivan and asked, "dude, what are you so nervous about?"

Ivan smiled nervously, and opened his mouth to speak, but instructor cut him off.

"Hello, class," she said in a thick accent. "Seeing as we have a new student, I'd like to introduce myself! My name is Elizabeta Héderváry, and I am your ballet instructor! And you are..?"

Al had been focusing on Ivan's twitching hands, and it took him a moment to realize Elizabeta was speaking to him.

"Hm?" he said, furrowing his brow and looking up. "Oh. My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Alfred! We don't get many boys attending this school. What made you interested in learning ballet?"

He snorted. "Coach said I had to work on my balance."

Elizabeta's smile faded.

"Ah, I see," she mused in her odd accent. "Well, shall we begin?"

The class began with simple stretches, all of them standing in a circle. Some of the girls gossiped and giggled, but Al didn't know what to say to the Russian kid. Admittedly, Alfred was kind of afraid of him. Something about his smile, and the dull, flickering light in his eyes made Al uneasy.

After stretches, the teacher told some of the dancers, including Ivan, to stand "on pointe". They stood on their toes, and Alfred, standing where he was, tried to do the same thing. He fell, and tried again, only to fall backwards and hurt his ankle. He grimaced and stared enviously at all the other dancers. They did it without even thinking. Elizabeta gave them and some of the other younger dancers some quick instructions, and then strolled over to Alfred.

"Since this is your first class, I'm gonna work with you separately," she said. "We're going to learn the five basic positions, first off."

So Elizabeta proceeded to attempt to teach Alfred the five positions of ballet. He stumbledseveral times, getting up off the ground more frustrated each time. By the end of the class, he could transition through the first three positions with ease.

She also taught all what the barre was, and she had him watch the other dancers for sometime. They were all so...graceful. Even Ivan, as big as he was. Alfred figured it was unfair. Someone that big should NOT be able to move that dexterously.

He wanted to laugh, because it WAS comical, but it was also...impressive.

Alfred watched the time slowly wane, wishing desperately to get home and go back to bed.

He worked on basic things, while being forced to watch the others do pliés, relevés, and other moves that Alfred didn't know. He never thought he'd so desperately wish to twirl around in tights.

Eventually, however, time did creep by, and the day's lesson came to a close. Alfred, head pounding, plopped down next to his duffel bag, and unlaced his shoes, while Ivan did the same. Once Alfred shoved his shoes back in his bag, he got up and padded over to the bathroom to change. Ivan followed.

The both entered the engulfing silence of the restroom, and each chose a stall silently and entered it. Alfred tore off his sweaty shirt, and he heard the rustle of Ivan getting undressed.

"Hey, Ivan," Alfred called over to him.

There was a pause.

"What?" he finally answered, his voice hoarse.

Alfred began to laugh. "Dude, when the fuck did you learn how to do ballet?"

Ivan didn't answer. Al's heart dropped, and he worried he'd hurt the big guy's feelings.

There was an audible sigh, and Ivan said, "I've been doing ballet for years now."

Alfred pulled up his jeans and laughed.

"Oh my god," he said, still giggling.

Ivan didn't answer to that, and after a short pause Alfred heard the changing room curtain stall burst open, followed by Ivan's brisk steps, and the bathroom door was opened before the curtains settled.

Alfred threw he shirt on and ran out, forgetting his bag. He caught Ivan as he was leaving out the door.

"Hey, dude," Alfred said, "what was that all about?"

Al herded him over towards the right of the door, near a large rock, which Ivan sat upon. He looked up with him with his violet eyes, and then looked down, playing with the fringe of his scarf.

"Nothing, I am sorry very," he sighed. "Just...It's embarassing, da? I never thought I'd see someone like you here."

"I never thought I'd see someone like you here," Alfred retorted playfully, adjusting his glasses.

Ivan looked down at the ground, his mouth and nose hidden by his scarf.

"Just don't tell your friends," he pleaded, looking up.

Al laughed. "Dude, _I_ don't want my friends knowing _I_ do ballet, unwillingly or not."

They laughed, and then Alfred noticed his mom pulling up in front of the studio. He said goodbye, and opened the car door, just as he realized that he had left his bag in the changing stall. He closed the door again, and dashed back inside. As he headed to back to his car, he gave Ivan one last wave goodbye.

Then Alfred threw the duffel bag in the back and plopped down in the passenger seat with a "harrumph."

His mom asked him how it went, but Alfred was too busy noticing Ivan's smiling as he watched them pull away. It wasn't cold or unreadable like his usual smile. It was...warm. And Alfred smiled too, quickly stopping when his mom said "Alfred" for the fourth time since he got in the car. But then he was smiling again, and he had to look out the window to hide it.


End file.
